


Step Forward

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Flowers, Friendship, Gen, Office, Post-Canon, Recovery, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Gloria gazes at her new office and smells her roses. She and Milla have more in common than she initially realized.





	Step Forward

Gloria’s office is rather small. It’s nothing compared to the lavish dressing rooms supplied for her on Broadway with everything her big heart could desire. If she wanted twenty thick slices of red velvet cake adorned with marshmallows or a dozen bottles of grape soda, then they would be presented in several straw baskets on her desk, courtesy of the rushing service interns.

Gloria hears Edgar’s voice echo in the hallway followed by the loud thumping of Fred’s legs, briefly distracting her from observing the little details of her new home. Her compatriots from Thorney Towers have all situated in the office building the Psychonauts constructed for them with what little budget they spared for Whispering Rock. They were to teach the campers that summer, which Gloria viewed as a way to give back for all of the support they were given from Raz.

Compared to Sasha’s lab or even Oleander’s treetop classroom, Gloria’s office is quaint and painted in a fair shade of manilla. Against the far wall is a leather chair and a laptop resting on an oak desk. She gazes at the deep orange couch and matching shag carpet, which tickles her ankles as she walks towards her desk. The closet is open and filled with conservative dresses provided by her fellow counselor, Milla, on account of her only dress had been soiled with dirt, vines, cups, and flowers long ago.

She can’t help the pleasant feeling budding in her chest. Running her fingers along the desk, Gloria’s grin stretches into her dimpled cheeks as she marvels over the desk’s smoothness. Not a single splinter pricks her index finger. Her gaze flicks towards the window, finding her favorite potted plants, each adorned with black-markered faces smiling back at her. Approaching them, Gloria runs her fingers through their soft petals and takes a whiff of the faint rosy scent lingering from them. Even when one of the petals falls into her palm, her smile remains the same.

A knock on the wooden door distracts her along with a call of, “Sorry if this all feels barebones. We’re getting the next order of office furniture by next week.”

Gloria chuckles, shaking her head and calling, “No, no. This is wonderful.”

Milla stands in the doorway, a suitcase in hand. She takes a sweeping gaze of Gloria’s office, proud of their joint effort in sprucing it up. She sets the suitcase down on the couch, a spring on her step as she moves towards the window. Cupping one of the pots, she lifts a rose to her nose and breathes in deeply.

“I really have to thank Ms. Zanotto for helping me fix up these little dears,” Gloria says. “If she hadn’t, then I don’t think they would’ve survived the trip from the asylum to camp. To think they’ve lasted a full year since they’ve been in the asylum.”

“Lili really has been making such strides in her mastering her herbaphony. For her to bring life back to your plants is really something special,” Milla replies, setting the pot back on the windowsill. “So, how are you liking camp so far?”

Gloria sighs, clasping her hands by her waist. “Oh, it’s been heavenly. Compared to the dusty and moldy asylum, I’d consider this place paradise.” She rolls her wrist as she gestures at her office. “I mean, it’s been far too long since I’ve had such a large space to myself. That little hole I had been confined to was entirely claustrophobic. I never even realized it.”

Milla nods. She scans Gloria’s office once more, her thoughts racing as she wonders what else to add. A touch of color on the walls would do Gloria some good along with a few lava lamps for a lively nature. A proper television for some personal time would also be a much needed addition. The idea of a radio interjects in her thoughts, but before she can speak, Gloria sighs, a faraway fog casting over her pupils.

“Is something wrong?” Milla asks, tilting her head towards Gloria.

Gloria’s shoulders lower, and she pulls at the cotton fabric of dress. Her outfit’s orange and yellow hues remind her of fallen days, ones she will never live through again. It almost feels like she is wearing a spotlight, all attention directed to her in such bright colors.

Milla sets her hand on Gloria’s shoulder, saying, “You know, if there is anything you’re worried about, please, tell me. I’m here for you.”

Gloria holds a breath, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She glances at her flowers, exhaling slowly, and she says, “You know, I never thought I would leave that place.”

Slightly, Milla’s eyes widen. Milla keeps her hand on Gloria’s shoulder, slowly rubbing small circles on the crook of Gloria’s bony neck. Her small gesture is all she can do for now, wanting to listen to Gloria fully before offering any advice or comfort.

Gloria splays her fingers as she throws her hands out, and a hollow laugh beats at the back of her throat. “I mean, I used to be talking to my flowers as if they were an audience. If I ever stepped out of the light, then I’d be like a witch, and Raz can attest to that.” Her voice warbles as her pitch changes to a gentle murmur. “Saying how grateful I am really can’t express how happy I am here.”

Milla’s fingers firmly press against Gloria’s worn skin, which Milla notes no longer has the light leathery quality to it. Perhaps the moisturizing regime she suggested to Gloria had been taken seriously. Gloria no longer feels like the withered crone that the asylum and cruelty had forced her to become.

Milla knows exactly how Gloria feels. The memory of being escorted to asylum after asylum had haunted the deepest, blackest parts of her mind. Milla’s censors and nightmare rooms took perfect care of eliminating those intrusive thoughts, but Gloria had no real defenses. Her mind was freely devoured by a terrible tyrant who spewed insults and rained down on the one representing her shining spirit.

They are more alike than Gloria realizes, but Milla understands her perfectly. Lost in the past, cursed by nightmares, plagued by people they once knew, they are united in their former misery. Milla wraps her arms around Gloria’s neck and pulls the older woman into an embrace, her hands stroking the now silken strands of Gloria’s hair, which cascade down her shoulder blades.

“You are very strong, Gloria, to endure all of that. Please, don’t forget that we care about you, and we will do everything we can to make sure you’re safe,” Milla whispers, lowering her head to Gloria’s ear.

Gloria’s mind blanks. She stiffens in Milla’s arms, which hold her in place but not with firmness. If she wriggles, then she can escape, but Gloria remains. Her long lashes flutter as she closes her arms around Milla’s strong back, choosing to accept Milla’s comfort.

She is no longer surrounded by dim lights, insects crawling all over her toes and plants, or the vines that tripped her so many times. Instead, she is protected in the arms of a friend. There is light at every corner of her room, and the pleasant fragrance of her old flowers surrounds her. The hallway outside reverberates with the exasperated voice of Fred breaking up an argument between Boyd and Oleander, which only makes her smile deepen.

Moving backwards, Gloria cups her hands around Milla’s slender fingers and says, “Thank you, Milla. Your help is like the sun shining at the highest point of the day.”

“Oh, I like that metaphor! It sounds like the two of us,” Milla exclaims, clapping her hands together only for a grimace to seize her expression as the argument brewing between Boyd and Oleander reaches another octave. Sighing, she steps away and adds, “Excuse me for just a moment. I’ll break up the boys.”

Gloria nods, watching Milla hurry out of her office, and she directs her attention to Milla’s suitcase left forlorn on the couch. Out of curiosity, she approaches it and catches her name written on a notecard taped to the suitcase. Knowing she should not open the suitcase without Milla’s explicit permission, her fingers move towards the golden clasps with reckless abandon. She flicks open the suitcase, and her mouth falls along with her heart.

There, shining under the light, is her trophy. The three-pronged trophy, which now reminds her of Dr. Loboto, is held between her stiff hands. She reads her name emblazoned in gold on the attached plate and traces her finger along the indented words.

Straightening her back, Gloria smiles. Her days in Broadway and musical theatre are long over, but the trophy serves as a pleasant reminder of happier times. Even if her mother’s voice hisses in the back of her mind, she is reminded of her accomplishments.

Gloria is no longer trapped in the asylum. She is surrounded by supportive friends, and soon, she will be teaching the upcoming roster of Whispering Rock campers as the arts activity director and assistant counselor of levitation. Marveling at her reflection in the trophy, Gloria flashes a bright, toothy smile and moves to her flowers. Parting the pots, Gloria sets her trophy between them, and drawing her hand across her chest, she nods.

Turning away on her half-inch heels, Gloria steps forward to her new life as the commotion in the hallway turns into laughter, the argument apparently settled. Joining the others as the conversation changes to upcoming camp activities, Gloria shares a look with Milla. Nodding, they smile at one another, unified in their growth from the past.


End file.
